Grace Abounding
by Flatlander Jr
Summary: Camp Chitaqua wasn't a bad place to live. On a mission to hunt down the Colt, Castiel comes across something just as precious that could tip the balance in their favor but change him in ways he isn't ready to accept.


Grace Abounding

Danielle Frances Ducrest

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _belongs to the CW and Kripke Enterprises. Any copyright infringements are not intended. This story was written for entertainment and not for profit.

Spoilers and Timing: Spoilers are for "The End." The story takes place in the alternate universe presented in that episode, but earlier in the year of 2014 than the episode's events.

Summary: Camp Chautauqua was at the end of the world, but it wasn't a bad place to live, as Castiel had discovered. On a mission to hunt down a lead on the Colt, Castiel comes across something just as precious. It could tip the balance in their favor, but it would change things for him in ways he isn't ready to embrace.

...

Somewhere outside his cabin, a woman was cursing. Something banged against something metal, and the woman cursed again.

The dim light of a cloudy sky filtered through the window. Castiel thought the light was pleasant. Even the language defiling the air sounded like a lullaby. There was a nice mix of drugs in his system, still there from the night before. He drifted back to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, the light outside was dimmer, belonging to late afternoon, and his high was mostly gone. The light outside the window was too bright and the noises were too loud. He could hear the woman again, cursing and hitting something. Castiel wished she would cease her discourse and leave him in peace. He draped his arm over his eyes and smothered his ears in his pillow, but it was no use; he was too sober, and he was awake.

He reached for a bottle on the floor, lifted it and didn't hear the telltale rattle that meant it contained pills. He'd taken the last of his ration, then, and Risa likely wouldn't let him have anymore from the clinic's supply. They weren't due for a supply run for a while, either.

He lay in bed for some time, not really caring to get up as the light dimmed outside. Beads tapped each other as someone stepped through the curtain in the entryway. Dean looked faintly exasperated. Faint, distant emotions were all he could manage nowadays, or so it seemed to Castiel. "Don't tell me you've spent another day in bed."

"Don't tell me you've never laid back and considered the wooden planks used to construct our humble shelters." Castiel's stomach growled. "Dinner?"

Dean nodded. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Your banquet awaits."

Castiel hauled himself off the bed, yawning. Dean fingered the empty pill bottles scattered on the dresser as Castiel put on his shoes.

Strange things, shoes, dressers, pill bottles. Five years ago, he hadn't understood their importance. Now, look at him, tying his shoes like a proper human. He knew the value of a pair of shoes. The ground at the camp was crawling with prickly plants, insects, twigs and pine needles. He knew how each of them felt against bare feet, fully human sensations he shouldn't have been able to feel.

He pushed away his bitterness and followed Dean out of the cabin. Hammers pounded against wood somewhere; there was always something going on, especially in-between missions when trucks needed to be fixed, bullets needed to be cast, knives needed sharpening and people needed training. Sometimes Castiel participated, sometimes he didn't. The buzz of activity had toned down for the day; they'd likely see nearly everyone at dinner instead. His cabin opened onto a "street," which was really a pathway between two of the cabin rows. It wasn't a long walk to the picnic tables. Just behind Castiel's cabin was the vegetable garden, on the far end of the garden was the kitchen and, behind that, a cluster of humanity was chatting and eating or serving food to the stragglers still arriving.

103 people lived at the camp-or was it 101? Or more? He wasn't sure. Two people had died on the last supply run, but the camp got some new arrivals recently, too. At least 17 of the people sitting at the benches were underage, dressed in worn clothes and dirty from lack of shower water. Castiel didn't know any of them. Two of the people at the tables were elderly, including Giddy Thompson, a seventy-three year old woman who played a mean game of poker and who cleaned a Glock like no one else. She sat beside a withered, bald man whose name Castiel didn't know. Once, he would have known a human's name just with a glance. He and Dean passed them on the way to the food line, and Castiel gave Giddy a nod.

The rest of the group sitting around the tables were men and women who performed various tasks around the camp. Many of the women smiled at him, and Castiel smiled back. He knew them, intimately, though many of their names escaped him. Some of the women who looked up did not give him warm glances.

Dean chatted with Vince, a former grocery store manager who'd proved himself time and again on missions, who stood ahead of them in line. Castiel grabbed a tin plate off the pile and started to spoon boiled carrots. A woman approached the table from the kitchens and came to a stop across from him. She spooned carrots from a pot into the bowl on the table. She had raven black hair and eyes a lighter blue than his own. He was fairly certain she was one of the new arrivals, because he didn't recognize her.

It was strange to think that there were still people out there, unaffected by the Croatoan virus. Once, with a beat of his wings, he would have been able to circle the globe and see for himself how the human race was faring. Now, life outside of the camp was arbitrary, hard to reach and harder to comprehend.

He'd need to figure out a way into the clinic supply cabinet. He didn't want to be thinking about these things.

She was muttering under her breath. Her voice was familiar, deeper than most of the women he'd known. There was no mistaking it. "You know some very creative curses," Castiel said, though she wasn't cursing now.

Her frown was part irritated, part distracted. "I'm sorry?"

"Earlier." He gave her a warm smile. She was very attractive, even with the frown. "You have a very distinctive voice. I could hear you from my cabin."

She stared at him. "Waityou're Cas?"

"I am. Who might you be?"

"I'm Grace."

His smile faded. "What did you say?"

Her weariness changed to confusion. "Ummy name is Grace."

The urge to flee overwhelmed him, like human emotions sometimes did whenever they were not bound by the softening effect of his medication. If only he could disappear, flap his wings and be gone.

"Cas," Dean called from a table.

Gratitude washed through him. "Excuse me."

He must have still looked pasty when he settled on the bench across from Dean, because Dean watched him with concern. "You okay?"

"Fine."

"Really."

Castiel snapped, "Yes, Dean. Really."

Dean raised his hands. "Okay. Geez. Tone down the death ray eyes, Cas." He finished his carrots and unwrapped a jumbo muffin from its plastic. "I wanted to talk to you. We've got a mission coming up, and I'd like you on the team."

"Of course," said Cas, because he never refused Dean's requests for help.

"We've got a lead on the Colt."

"How strong is the lead?"

Dean ran a finger across his lip, a bad sign. "It's not. That group that arrived last week-the one your new friend was part of-" He nodded at Grace, who was headed back to the kitchen with an empty pot.

Castiel stiffened. "What about them?"

Dean eyed him. "Huh. Anyway, they say they saw a low, black cloud over Franklin on the way over here. It sounded like demon smoke. And nowadays, when demons gather, it usually means that's where Lucifer is or it's where the Colt is."

"Or they're trying to trick us again."

Dean made a face. "Doesn't matter. We have to check it out."

Castiel agreed all efforts should be made to retrieve the Colt-it was the only long-term goal they had, other than survival-but Dean seemed a little too eager to on this mission. He realized Dean was restless. Castiel had seen it before. Dean was tense, thrumming with energy that needed to be released, preferably by killing something. Over a month must have passed since the last time he saw Dean relax.

"It's not your fault," he said.

Dean stilled mid-chew.

"You're not to blame for what happened to Jason and Carla." They'd been good people to have as backup, which was why they'd been on the last supply run. Everyone had come back from that trip but Jason and Carla, both infected by Croatoans and shot full of lead by Dean before the virus could take over.

"Damnit, Cas." Dean looked down at his muffin. Years ago, Castiel thought he would have left the food there and stalked off; but they'd learned the value of food, and none of it could be wasted. Castiel watched him swallow the rest. "Darren's ankle is nearly healed now, and everyone else has recovered from the last supply run. As soon as Risa declares he's fit for duty, that's when we head out."

...

Risa caught Castiel trying to the pick the lock on the clinic's drug cabinet, and every time they crossed paths the rest of the night, she stopped and glared at him until he was out of sight. His irritation grew with every passing hour and not even Dean would go near him. He hated being sober. A couple girls were waiting for him at the cabin-Cindy and Vanessa, he thought-but he couldn't get himself in the mood and sent them away. Cindy went with a pout and Vanessa went with her disdainful sniff, but they went, and that was all that mattered.

He fell asleep eventually, aching and annoyed at the noises around camp he normally wouldn't hear, on account of being too out of it to care or too wrapped up in a tangle of female limbs. He woke up to cursing. Grace was in the garden, beating on something metallic and swearing with each pound.

Castiel got out of bed. His hands shook with withdrawal, and it took him a few tries to get on a pair of pants and do the laces on his shoes, as if he was a newborn human again and he needed Dean to help him dress. The memory embarrassed him now, and he scowled at nothing in particular as he emerged from the cabin and went around the side. Noises were too loud and the cloudy sunlight was too bright, but he was determined this time to find out what Grace was doing.

Sunlight seeped through the constant cloud cover. Flickering lamps provided UV rays to the plants that needed an extra boost, but their bulbs were flickering. Castiel followed the string of curses around the tomato patch and past the lettuce leaves. He found her near the kitchen wall, kicking the electricity generator into submission and degrading it with colorful insults.

He opened his mouth, but the words died on his tongue. She was crying. She rubbed angrily at her eyes. A single tear got free and marked a path down her cheek, and she swiped it quickly. She gave the generator another kick and it began to hum. "Finally, you piece of shit." Her contralto voice shook. "You'd better fucking stay working if you know what's good for you."

Castiel wasn't an expert at reading human emotions, not even after being one for five years. But he had a feeling she wasn't crying over the generator.

Grace's head snapped to face him. "Well, are you just going to stand there, Castiel?" She spat his name.

Castiel staggered back a step, but his irritation quickly returned. "Have I done something to upset you?" His tone was heavily sarcastic.

She laughed. "How about everything?" She looked at the generator, which continued to hum. "How about you go back in time and stop this damn Croatoan virus before it got my husband or my mother or my daughter? How about before vampires killed my niece and my sister?" She wiped away another tear. "Oh, that's right, you _can't_, can you?"

A rush of feelings hit him: surprise, guilt, bitterness, anger and a host of others. He should have stayed in his cabin, if this was what he got. "I don't know what you've heard-"

"I heard you used to be an angel," Grace snapped, "and the other angels leftus down here to be turned into feral monsters. Jackasses."

"Word travels fast," Castiel said. She'd only been here a week and already she knew his life story. And, apparently, he was responsible for the deaths of all the people she held dear. It wasn't anything he wasn't accustomed to feeling. He'd known for years just how much he'd failed. He knew it every time he looked up at the clouds Lucifer had placed before the sun. He knew it every time he woke up or tied his shoes. And now, here was another reminder, a woman named Grace who had no qualms about reminding him of all his mistakes.

"Get out of here," she said. "You'll get your fucking lunch, all right? Just go the fuck away."

...

Adults and teenagers poured liquid metal into bullet molds, sharpened knives, sorted through supplies, cooked, took care of those who needed it and tended the garden. Giddy was in charge of school lessons, and every other morning, she sat with the younger children, teaching them mathematics and reading comprehension. On alternating days, she taught the teenagers. Dean made Castiel spend time at the firing range along with everyone going on the mission.

Sometimes, the sounds of childish laughter as loud as the gun blasts would reside through the camp, echoing off the lake water as the children went swimming. It was just the way things were at camp, and Castiel didn't think he'd ever become used to the fact that humans could learn to live in such dreary circumstances.

Three days passed before Darren was finally cleared for active duty. The trucks were packed and eight men and women prepared to head out.

Castiel did a circuit inside the walls to check the wards. The wooden fence circled the lake, the cabins and the firing range. There were six walls in all, each with towers at the corners. Twelve people were on guard duty at any one time, staring out at the forests and watching the sky. Thirty-six people at camp rotated on guard duty, and some of them had other tasks when they weren't posted at a tower.

The tower guards waved or nodded when he approached, but they quickly turned back to face the forest. From the southeast tower, Patrick raised a hand covered in black ink and gave Castiel a mock salute. The Canadian was allergic to tattoo ink, and every day and night, he drew the sigil that protected him against demon possession. Everyone else in the camp had the sigil as a tattoo. Castiel's was on his arm, under his shirt and jacket sleeves.

Spray paint covered every inch of the wooden fence, in any color found on supply runs: red, green, black, white, even hot pink and sparkly blue. Each sigil was visible to the human eye; he'd long since lost the ability to see or draw the intangible. It was a power he didn't miss as much as others. He'd come to enjoy human sight, which saw so little compared to an angel's but could still see so much that angels never bothered to observe.

He'd taught everyone how to paint the runes that kept angels out, and Dean had taught everyone about anti-demon sigils. Still, when Castiel was sober enough, he would personally walk along the inside of the wooden fence. It made him feel useful, not as much of a failure as he knew he was; the sigils were a reminder that, without his help, everyone at the camp would have been possessed or killed by now.

He shook the can of brown spray paint in his hand and painted over a couple of the sigils, but most of them looked sound, so he passed most of the walk just reading. No one else knew what the sigils meant, though Castiel had explained a few of them to Dean, once. Castiel could read each mark, knew what each rune meant, heard their pronunciations in his head but rarely spoke them aloud. These sigils belonged to a small number of things that connected him with his past. He soaked up Enochian phrases with human eyes.

...

Darren and Vince sat in the cockpit of the second truck, while Yasmine and Francis settled in the bed with extra ammo, gas cans and food. Dean and Castiel climbed into the cockpit of the first truck and Thomas and Jahanyar sat in the back, also with extra ammo, gas cans and food. Their destination was a few hours away, so they didn't pack camping gear. Each truck had enough supplies for the four people sharing the vehicle; if something happened to one truck, the other could keep going.

A lot of Camp _Chautauqua_ gathered at the camp entrance to see them out. They lined the dirt road that separated the cabins from the work sheds and practice range and waved as the trucks trudged over the uneven road and through the gates. Grace's raven hair was impossible to miss. She held his gaze as the truck drove by. Her eyes were hard and steely, as if she was giving him a message, probably along the lines of, _Don't__ screw this one up, you jackass._

"What's going on with you and Grace over there, anyway?" Dean asked.

"It's nothing. Put some music on, would you?"

Dean slid a CD into the player, a copy of a Metallica album converted from one of his old cassettes. Castiel closed his eyes and let the music drown out the memory of Grace's stare.

...

The town of Franklin was hallowed of life. They drove past one abandoned building after another. A mobile home park held trailers with collapsed walls. A middle class neighborhood's yards were littered with trash, furniture innards and broken window panes. In downtown, overturned cars and streetlights torn from their poles created an obstacle course for the trucks. Yasmine, Francis, Thomas and Jahanyar ducked down low in the truck beds, shotguns cocked and ready for anything to emerge from the trashed bakery or the ransacked clothing and antique stores, but nothing happened. "CROATOAN" had been painted on shop fronts, but the Croats were long gone.

"Anything?" Dean asked as he weaved the truck around a statue's remains.

Castiel shook his head. "No. No demons, Croats or humans." Most of his powers had faded, but he still possessed an extra sense or two that normal humans did not share.

"Then it's a dead end." Dean sighed. If they'd gotten there sooner, they could have intercepted the demons. He stopped at an intersection, leaned an arm out the window and signaled to Vince that they would head back to the interstate.

"Walgreens, Winchester!" Jahanyar said through the open window in the back windshield. His Iranian accent was distinctive even at a loud whisper. "It looks intact."

The drug and packaged goods store was two blocks away, down the intersected street. From the main street, it appeared as if most of the glass was intact. That usually meant something inside had been left behind. They didn't need a supply run yet, but it would be foolish not to get anything they could while they were here. Castiel hoped there would be pain pills.

"All right," called Dean, "we'll check it out." He signaled the change in plans to Vince, and the two trucks headed in the new direction.

Castiel cocked his gun, ready to get out as soon as the truck stopped. But as Dean approached the parking lot, Castiel went rigid with a gasp.

"Cas? What's wrong? Is it Croats?"

"No." No, the feeling crawling up his spine wasn't the slithery presence of an abomination, or the filthy and teeth-grating sensation caused by an infected human. "No. It's something good."

"Something good?" Dean sounded dubious. He parked the truck, Vince pulled into the next spot and Dean raised a fist, the sign to stop and wait a moment.

He could hear whispers. It sounded like Enochian, though he couldn't make out the words. He wondered if he was hallucinating. It wouldn't be the first time. He hoped he wasn't.

He tilted his head to the side and tried to listen harder. The whispers had a definite direction. Excitement built in him, and his words emerged clipped and fast, "We need to go East."

"What? Why?"

"Please, Dean." He met Dean's gaze. "It's important."

Finally, Dean nodded. "All right. How far east?"

"Not far."

"How very specific. All right." He called out the windows, "Change of plans! We'll come back here later if we can."

"Why?" Yasmine asked from the bed of the second truck.

"Never mind why. Let's go."

They went five blocks east, out of downtown. Neighborhoods fell behind them, and they entered an open country of fields. Some of the fields were fallow. The others contained burned crops. Nothing was salvageable here.

The whispers continued, but as they drew closer, Castiel was less certain it was the angels. The voice speaking in Enochian was familiar, but it sounded like his own Angelic voice, not the voice of the vessel that had become his body. He wasn't sure what this meant, but it was still something good. He was positive of that.

The fields ended and trees crowded the sides of the road. Dean let out a whistle as they entered the open again.

To the left, stalks of corn rose to meet the sky, healthy and untouched and far more than they could hope to harvest, but it was there for the taking. The greenery spread in row after row to the tree lined horizon.

In the middle of the field, an oak tree towered over the stalks. It was as wide as it was tall. Deep green leaves burst from every branch.

"There," he said. "It's there."

The trucks rolled to a stop on the road. Dean said softly, "Is that?"

"My Grace. It's my Grace."

...

They gathered on the tarmac, in the partly protected space between the trucks. "What's going on, Dean?" Vince asked.

Castiel followed the conversation with only part of his attention. His focus remained on the tree in the distance.

Dean's hand wrapped around his arm. "Stay with us, Cas. We don't know it's safe yet."

The touch anchored Castiel; without it, he probably would have drifted into the corn. "Yes, Dean." He knew the value of what Dean was saying, even if he was having trouble caring. The whispers were louder, now. His Grace was calling to him, and he was eager to answer.

"There's something at the tree that Cas needs," Dean said. "Cas, are you sensing anything out there?"

"Nothing dangerous."

"Cas."

Castiel wasn't specific enough, apparently. "No Croats and no demons. No other mystical bad guys. They wouldn't dare go near that tree."

"And what aboutafter?"

If he removed his Grace from the tree, the Grace's protection on the area would vanish. "The demons would come." He had no doubt the demons were lying in wait, just outside of sensing range.

"Great."

"So, what's at the tree?" Yasmine asked.

"You'll find out," said Dean. "We're going in."

Francis and Yasmine watched from the truck beds, which gave them a height advantage and allowed them to see above the stalks. Darren and Thomas took up positions on the ground, between the road and the corn, their eyes on the road. Vince and Jahanyar followed Dean and Castiel into the field.

The brush of corn against his skin was unpleasant. Greenery closed around them, cutting off sight of the tree, but the aisle of corn would take them straight to it. Dean pushed stalks aside, and each stalk rebounded against Castiel before he could catch them. He didn't care, much. His heart pumped double time in his chest, so loud that it drowned out all sounds but the whispers.

After what seemed like forever, they arrived at the tree. Corn stalks brushed against the trunk, rubbed against low branches. There was no space to stand except within the corn.

Castiel shouldered past Dean. His arm rubbed against Dean's and a stalk itched against his head as he reached for the bark of the tree.

Dean's hand clamped down on his arm. "Cas, are you sure about this?"

"Deanif I could become an angel again, I could" He could be useful, he could be whole, he could be a thousand things he hadn't been in five years as a human.

"Would you stick around? With us humans?"

"Of course I would. I wouldn't abandon you or anyone else at camp."

Dean's shoulders sagged in relief. "Okay. That's good."

But Castiel didn't touch the bark. He'd wanted to be an angel again for so long, but now he hesitated. If he came back to the camp as an angel, he'd be an outsider. He would walk among them, but he would be apart from them. Castiel had chosen this life. As much as he disliked being human sometimes, it wasn't all bad. He liked the people at camp. He liked sex. He liked the humanity and the camaraderie. If he took in his Grace now, he'd lose all of that.

There were other things he should consider, too. He didn't know what his Grace was doing here or why he was being given this chance. He doubted the other angels had returned. If he did this, he and Lucifer would be the only angels on Earth. It would hardly be a fair match, but it would be better than what they had.

"If you touch the tree, you will become an angel again?" Jahanyar asked.

Castiel glanced over his shoulder at Jahanyar and Vince. He'd forgotten they were listening. Both of the men looked awed. "Then the rumors are true," murmured Vince, who had fashioned the crutches Castiel used last year to move about camp, during the two months his broken foot was wrapped in a cast. He could understand why Vince had doubts. He didn't look like much of anything with dirty hair, worn clothes and a week's beard.

Castiel's palm made contact with the oak's rough bark. The tree vibrated with the celestial energy hidden inside it. He'd forgotten the power inherent in an angel's grace.

All he had to do was reach for it and pull it toward him, then hold it against his chest and let it seep into his soul. It would be so easy. Except he wasn't ready. He pulled his hand away, and regret and relief washed through him when he could no longer feel the vibrations inside the bark. "I need your flask."

Dean started, but he pulled it out. It was nearly empty; Dean had been sipping it occasionally during the drive. He swallowed the rest with a grimace and held out the empty flask.

Castiel shook his head. "Just hold it open."

He laid both hands on the trunk and closed his eyes. His entire body shook in time with the tree. He reached out with his mind for the power behind the vibrations. He saw nothing but blackness with his mind's eye. He reached further, and the whispers grew in intensity, if not in coherence. Light exploded in the darkness, twisting, glowing tendrils that greeted him and caressed his thoughts with pleasure and happiness.

He griped it tight with his mind and pulled. The Grace came willingly, rising from the roots of the tree. He pulled with his mind and his body, and his hands came away from the bark holding tight to the Grace. He heard gasps from his audience. Castiel clasped his hands together and opened his eyes.

Thin tendrils of light leaked between his fingers, but he easily held the Grace in the palms of his hands. The contact made his skin tingle. The small area between the corn stalks glowed with the Grace's light, bathing Dean, Jahanyar and Vince's faces and clothes.

Castiel placed his hands over the flask. The Grace trickled into the container until it had completely entered the flask.

"Are you sure about this?" Dean said.

"Yes."

"Okay, then." Dean twisted the cap closed, and the glow disappeared. The afternoon sunlight hadn't changed, but it seemed as dim as dusk without the Grace's presence.

Goosebumps suddenly slithered across his back. "Demons are coming. Several of them." He plucked the flask from Dean's fingers and tucked it in his jacket.

The sky darkened, and then the daylight really was as dim as dusk. A cloud of demons gathered overhead. There weren't enough unaffected humans in the area to accommodate them, which meant they would attack without hosts. These demons had no voices with which to taunt, no sympathetic faces to evoke guilt; they were pure evil.

"Everyone look alive!" Dean shouted. "We've got company! Let's go!"

With a rush of wind, a coil of black smoke detached from the mass and soared down. Another followed, then another. Vince and Dean raised their weapons, and gunfire split the air. Bullets dipped in holy water poked holes in the smoke, and the smoke howled.

Yasmine and the others joined in the shooting. Vince, Dean, Castiel and Jahanyar took off running through the stalks, Dean or Jahanyar occasionally pausing to lay down cover fire as the other three rushed by.

Castiel yelled out the exorcism ritual. He heard Thomas doing the same. A thick coil of smoke flying low over the corn toward the unseen trucks suddenly veered off to the side, shooting for something in the distance, probably a hell gate. One down, about eight more to go.

They began the words anew as one demon after another fell from the sky. Four more demons were sent back to the hell by the time they passed out of the corn and emerged on the road.

Demon smoke hit Vince in the back of the head, knocking him to the ground. His face smashed against the tarmac. Yasmine and Thomas shot the smoke full of holy water as Jahanyar and Castiel pulled him to his feet and Dean finished off the exorcism. The smoke spiraled back into the sky and away from its friends, disappearing over the horizon in the direction of the unseen hell gate.

Two more coils smashed into the side of a truck. Yasmine yelled, dropped her shotgun and grabbed onto the wall of the bed as the truck tipped over. Boxes went flying, and Frances and Thomas scrambled out of the way. A coil of smoke collided with Thomas and pushed him against the upright truck.

Everyone else let loose on the coils with a hail of bullets, and the smoke dissipated, shot to little pieces.

Only one demon remained. As its fellows became dust, it shot through the group, knocking everyone off their feet. Castiel's head hit the ground hard enough to see stars. His gun dropped from his fingers, and the flask, still in his jacket, clattered against cement.

The black smoke filled his vision, blanketing him. He drew in a breath but couldn't find the oxygen to start the exorcism. He ended up coughing instead. He grasped for the gun, raised it and fired, scoring a hit easily at such close range. He pulled the trigger again and nothing happened. He needed a new clip.

Other guns fired, and the demon pulled back into the sky. Castiel sucked in air. Dean helped him to his feet as Thomas shouted the exorcism, banishing the demon.

Silence fell as the sunlight returned. Castiel's head ached, and his fingers came away bloody when he touched his scalp. None of their group was dead. Thomas's shoulder was bruised and his left wrist was broken. The damage to the truck was minimal, easily fixed with enough people to tip it back upright. Yasmine and Vince had simple scrapes. Thomas's broken bone and Castiel's possible concussion were the worst injuries.

"Did you get what we came for?" Yasmine asked as she checked a scrape on her arm.

Castiel fingered the flask in his pocket. "Yes."

"All right," said Dean, "Let's get the truck back on its tires and then go back to that Walgreens. The demons won't be giving us any trouble for a while now."

...

Dean glanced from the road to the towel Castiel held to his scalp. "You know, you could fix that."

"I could."

"So why don't you?"

"I've grown accustomed to being human." Even a throbbing skull didn't change his mind.

Dean's laugh was incredulous. "I thought you hated this."

"No." He didn't hate being human. He often drowned himself in pills because he couldn't stand to think about what he'd lost; the fact that he'd gained humanity when he lost his Grace had nothing to do with it. It was all so complicated.

"You know you'll still be welcome at camp," said Dean. "You'll still have your cabin, if you want it."

Castiel wouldn't need it, but the offer warmed him. "Thanks. But the wards would keep me out. You can't have an angel at camp if you're trying to keep all angels away."

"So we'll deface those wards. Cas, I know this is what you want. You don't have to pass it up just because you think it's best. I don't want you to stay human if it costs you this. If you become an angel, I'll make sure you can hang around."

"No, Dean." Castiel glared at Dean with all the ferocity he could manage without the wrath of heaven at his back. "You can't risk everyone's lives just for me. I won't allow it."

"Then what? Huh? You wander around as an angel and get captured by Lucifer?" Dean matched his glare. "No. You become an angel again, you stay with us. We'll take down the anti-angel wards but we'll keep up the hiding-from-angels sigils. It'll be enough. We're not gonna cast you out, man. We still need you."

Castiel reached into his pocket and held up the flask. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Dean go rigid. For all his talk, he was as uncertain about this as Castiel was. Castiel stared at the blank metallic side of the container. The metal contained the Grace well enough that he couldn't feel it, but he resisted the urge to twist off the cap and check that it was in there. He could still hear the whispers.

"We've been through so much together," he said. "We've kept each other alive ever since Sam" Dean's mouth tightened into a thin line, and Castiel didn't finish the sentence aloud. "And then Bobby"

"Yeah." Dean's voice was rough.

"I've been human for so long. I can't justdismiss it." He tucked the flask back in his pocket. "I need some time."

...

They returned to camp and stopped at the end of the first cabin row, outside the cabin that served as a storehouse. It was after midnight, but Chuck and his crew had apparently been working late, and they descended from the cabin steps and unloaded the new supplies, including a couple boxes of unshucked corn.

Jahanyar's wife and Thomas's girlfriend arrived with Risa. Risa fussed over Darren, Yasmine and Vince, and the others scattered in search of beds or drinks. Castiel ducked around the side of the cabin and started on a fast walk down the path before the next row of cabins. His head had stopped bleeding and he didn't seem to have any symptoms of a concussion, so he didn't see the point of sticking around. He'd rather be alone to think, anyway.

He walked the length of the camp, his path lit only by the flickering oil lamps that served as streetlights. No one was out except a handful of people on ground guard duty, who paced between cabins with battery powered flashlights and shotguns. Spaces between cabins were dark as pitch, and he stayed clear of those; the guards looked at each of them, and he didn't want to explain why he was hiding. Instead, he nodded to the guards he came across and walked briskly enough that no one spoke to him.

The flask was heavy in his pocket. It jiggled against his ribs with each step.

Finally, legs and back aching from the activity, he returned to his cabin. He peeled back the bead curtain-it was hard to believe that he might soon be able pass through the doorway without any need to touch the beads at all-and stared at the room inside. There was the Buddha shrine and his bed and the carpet, where he'd spent hours meditating when he was alone or waxing poetical to women eager for some action with the used-to-be-an-angel.

There was a new pill bottle on the dresser. Chuck must have placed it there. Castiel hadn't thought about drugs since they'd left the oak tree, not even when they'd returned to the Walgreens to pick through half-ransacked aisles. Castiel's brief contact with his Grace probably had something to do with his missing cravings.

The beads shifted behind him. Grace stood just inside the doorway, arms folded and looking uncomfortable. "I heard you found something that could turn you back into an angel."

"Word travels fast." He plopped down on the bed and pulled the shoes off his sore feet. "Come to tell me I should do it? I should become an angel and go up against Lucifer?"

Her gaze was pure steel. "Yes. That's exactly what I wanted to tell you."

It was fitting that a woman named Grace wanted him to reclaim his own Grace. Who better to serve as advocate for a complete alteration of his existence?

His socks came off next. He stared at his freed toes, flexed them. Before he became human, he'd never once taken off his vessel's shoes or socks. Jimmy wasn't there anymore; the only one in this body was Castiel, but it had been Jimmy's, once, and Castiel had no idea which calluses and dirt were there because of Castiel and which marks had been there when Jimmy was at the reigns. Either way, these were _his _feet. He'd never had feet before the angels left, not the tangible kind.

Everything was making him maudlin. Maybe he should pop a couple pills after all.

"Do you think that it'd make a difference?" He looked up at her. "I stood against Lucifer as an angel, and the apocalypse still came."

She flinched, but the steel soon returned to her eyes. "But you could still do _something_ you can't do as a human. You could help us search for the Colt. I've been hearing things about the search. I know Dean and his men can't always follow a lead, for one reason or another. You could follow those leads, and then we might actually stand a chance of killing that son of a bitch."

He closed his eyes. She was right, of course. That was the whole point to all of this. If there was no possible hope of defeating his brother, then there was no point to the camp, no point to the school lessons Giddy gave the children or to maintaining the generator that helped keep the plants alive.

"If you don't do this, Castiel, then you're a coward."

Castiel's head snapped up. Furious, he shot to his feet and stormed across the room. Surprised, she backed up a step and brushed against the bead curtain.

"You know nothing about me," he said. "You know nothing about what would happen to me if I did this, or about the precautions I would have to follow to avoid capture by Lucifer before I could return here. You have no knowledge of the future; do not pretend you do. And do not presume to call me _anything_."

She swallowed, but she didn't back down. "Fine. But if you could help us as a human, this bullshit would all be over by now. But you can change the rules. I think this is a sign. I want that son of a bitch to die, and I know you do, too. If you become an angel again, then we'd actually stand a chance."

Her belief was strong. She thought this was the right course of action.

So did Castiel. He said nothing, though, and their staring contest continued.

"Think about it, Castiel," she said. "It's time to end this shit."

Yes, it was. Humanity was comfortable, but it was time to move on, whether or not he wanted to do so. It was time to be useful.

...

Castiel found Dean sitting on the hood of one of the trucks, staring at the clouds hiding the stars and sipping from a bottle.

Not far away, a wild patch of grass hid the rusted remains of the Impala. Castiel glanced at the weeds on the way to Dean. Dean never went near the Impala anymore. Castiel didn't, either. He doubted it was in any good condition.

Castiel stopped before the truck and stood, waiting and silent. Finally, Dean sighed and looked down. "Hey, Cas. Still here?"

"Yeah. Though not for long."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I figured. It's about time."

Castiel exhaled in exasperation. Dean's affected nonchalance wasn't fooling him. "Dean. When I take in my Grace, the contact will destroy my body."

Dean flinched.

"It will take me a number of months toreassemble it, much like Anna did with hers."

Dean fingered the bottle's label. "Why not just take another vessel or something?"

"I doubt Lucifer has let any potential vessels stay alive. And I'm attached to this one."

That got a chuckle, at least.

Castiel willed Dean to look at him, but he had no success. Dean had never been good at silent commands, no matter if Castiel was a human or an angel. "Then I'll come back. I swear."

"Right." Dean slid down the hood and finally met Castiel's eyes. "You'd better."

They clasped hands. He felt the strength in Dean's grip. He squeezed back with just as much strength. "Keep the camp safe while I'm gone."

"You bet. You'd better not keep us waiting for long."

He smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it, Dean Winchester."

It felt like a goodbye. It shouldn't have.

Castiel grabbed the bottle out of Dean's hand and took a healthy swig. The alcohol burned the back of his throat and spread warmth through his stomach. It felt good. He savored the feeling as he handed back the bottle. He wouldn't have a throat or a stomach for some time.

Dean smirked. "One for the road?"

"Something like that." Castiel held up the flask. "You'd better step back."

Dean moved away a couple of paces. Castiel untwisted the lid and let the Grace pour on the ground. The night came alive with its glow, brighter than floodlights and as pure as moonlight. He tossed the flask and lid aside. The Grace pooled in the dirt, swirled and rose into the air. It twisted in an unerring path to his chest.

"Close your eyes!" He could no longer see Dean through the glare. He hoped Dean would remember Anna well enough to heed Castiel's warning.

Tendrils of Grace touched his shirt and passed through. He gasped as the Grace seeped into his skin and filled his lungs. His nerves came alive, burning with fire. Tendrils wrapped his soul, blanketing it in comfort and warmth, all while his physical self was stretched and stretched until it began to tear at the seams.

It was the most awful thing he'd ever felt. It was the most amazing thing he'd ever known. He screamed out a laugh before his senses vanished and his world went white.


End file.
